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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183224">The Crossover</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana'>LadyRhiyana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comic book artists, F/M, I'm just having fun here, Rivalry, don't mind me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should do a crossover story,” Tyrion said. “The Kingslayer and the Maid.” </p>
<p>“No,” Jaime said.</p>
<p>Brienne folded her arms. “Absolutely not.” </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>In which Jaime and Brienne are rival comic book artists.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>275</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is another drabble story, like "The Kingsguard" and "Up Close and Personal". </p>
<p>I'm not really an *avid* comic book/graphic novel reader - though I do have a stack on my bookshelf - and I know nothing about the industry. However, I recently watched a documentary series and was intrigued by the bright colours and the personalities.</p>
<p>Please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We should do a crossover story,” Tyrion said. “The Kingslayer and the Maid.” </p>
<p>“No,” Jaime said.</p>
<p>Brienne folded her arms. “Absolutely not.” </p>
<p>Tyrion picked up his pen and began to twirl it. “The last time we saw the Maid, she was cradling King Renly in her arms, slain by the Red Priestess’ unholy magic.” </p>
<p>That had been a particularly wrenching two-page layout, the Maid’s ugly face swollen with tears as she wept for her handsome king. Brienne had poured her soul into the art, and the fans had loved it. </p>
<p>“Well, what if she swears vengeance and takes service with the Young Wolf?” Tyrion continued, his eyes shining as he brainstormed. “We could start by having the Kingslayer captured by the Northmen. He’s been thrown in the dungeon for a year, so he’s far from his full strength. And then – I don’t know – for some reason the Maid has to escort him back to King’s Landing.” </p>
<p>Jaime leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “Go on.” </p>
<p>“He’s weak,” Tyrion said. “He’s – yeah, we could even put him in chains. What is he without his sword? You know you’ve been wanting to go more into his backstory, Jaime. Well, we can see him through the Maid’s eyes. She’s all about honour – how will she react to the greatest oathbreaker in Westeros?”</p>
<p>Despite herself, Brienne was intrigued. No matter how odious he was in person, Jaime was one of the most celebrated comic book artists in Westeros, and Brienne had always been fascinated by his anti-hero the Kingslayer. A crossover story, the notorious oathbreaker teaming up with the honourable Maid – </p>
<p>“So long as it’s about story and not sex,” Brienne said. </p>
<p>Jaime narrowed his eyes. “The Kingslayer has his Golden Queen. Why would he look at anyone else?” </p>
<p>They glowered at each other. </p>
<p>Tyrion cleared his throat. “Well?” he asked.  </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>Tyrion Lannister had a way of convincing people. </p>
<p>He’d convinced his elder brother to jump ship with him from Casterly Rock Publications. He’d convinced a number of otherwise canny investors to pour their money into a rival publishing house which he called, with typical defiance, Halfman Comics. </p>
<p>He’d convinced Brienne – chance met at a con, two years ago – that she could do more than illustrate fairy-tale anthologies and children’s tales. He’d convinced her to take a chance on creating her own, unconventional character – </p>
<p><i>Convention is boring,</i> he’d said. <i>We don’t do convention here. Give me your wildest and most out there ideas.</i> </p>
<p>And so she’d created a heroine. Not a beautiful, full-breasted Amazon with long flowing hair, but a hulking, ugly girl who secretly longed for all the things she couldn’t have. She’d expected Tyrion to reject the Maid as too ugly, but this was Halfman Comics where diversity, inclusivity and controversy were the watchwords. </p>
<p>He’d given her immediate approval.</p>
<p>** </p>
<p>“Fine,” Brienne said, grudgingly. </p>
<p>“Fine,” Jaime muttered. </p>
<p>“Good,” Tyrion said. “Now both of you, bugger off and come back to me with something in a week.”</p>
<p>** </p>
<p>When they closed the door of Tyrion’s office behind them, Jaime turned to her and smiled. It was a lazy, ironic smile – with just a hint of teeth. “Come on, then. Let’s go get some lunch, and we can work out how many times the Kingslayer has to rescue the Maid.” </p>
<p>She drew herself up to her full height. She was one or two inches taller, and never let him forget it. “For every time the Kingslayer rescues her,” she said, “the Maid will rescue him in turn.” </p>
<p>There was a moment of glowering silence, and then they shook on it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime’s idea of lunch was very different from Brienne’s.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaime’s idea of lunch was very different from Brienne’s. Instead of buying sandwiches from a nearby deli, she and Jaime were now seated on the outdoor deck of a popular seafood restaurant, right on the waterfront.</p>
<p>He was dressed in shabby jeans and a faded Black Knight t-shirt. There was ink on his hands, and his golden curls were pulled back into a messy man-bun.</p>
<p><em>Welcome, Mr Lannister, </em>the maître d’ had said with an ingratiating smile when Jaime had walked into the busy restaurant without a reservation. <em>Of course we have a table for you</em>.</p>
<p>Jaime had only flashed his charming smile and strolled through the crowded dining room, oozing assurance and self-confidence. <em>Look at me</em>, his body language said, <em>I’m filthy rich and outrageously handsome, and I know it. </em></p>
<p>He didn’t ask for special treatment. It simply fell into his lap, and he thought it was the natural order of the world.</p>
<p>The waiter brought them a bottle of wine – <em>compliments of the house, Mr Lannister</em>.</p>
<p>Brienne almost refused to eat with him on principle. But instead, she was determined to order the most expensive thing on the menu and make him pay for it.</p>
<p>There were no prices on the menu. Typical.</p>
<p>She ordered lobster and caviar and a dozen oysters. And then she put down her menu and examined him thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Why comics?” she asked.</p>
<p>He looked up, blinking bemusedly. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“You’re Tywin Lannister’s eldest son. Surely you should be some kind of Vice President in Lanniscorp.”</p>
<p>“I’m his eldest son, yes, but not his heir.” He took a sip of wine. “I have a twin sister, older by all of twenty seconds. She’s the one determined to conquer the financial world. Me,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile, “I know better than to get in her way.”</p>
<p>“But why comics? It seems such an odd career choice.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” He shrugged. “Tyrion was always reading comics as a boy. The Black Knight. Prince Rhaegar. Lady Stoneheart. But all the heroes were tall and powerful, and Tyrion wanted to see someone like himself. So – I used to tell him bedtime stories about Tyrone Stirlann, a secret agent who happened to be a dwarf.”</p>
<p>“No,” Brienne said, laughing despite herself. “<em>You </em>created the Imp?”</p>
<p>“I did,” he said, grinning proudly. “He was my first creation. At first it was pure Boy’s Own stuff – car chases, secret lairs, punching out bad guys. But as Tyrion got older, I introduced his sidekick Bronn – the brawn to Tyrone’s brains – and Tyrone began save the world by outwitting and outbidding his enemies, rather than outfighting them. And, of course, he began to get all the girls.”</p>
<p>“Hang on. Wasn’t there a story arc where we meet Tyrone’s elder brother, Jay?” Tyrone’s sister CeeCee Stirlann had called him in to investigate a great gold heist in the Westerlands. His brother Jay had been kidnapped, and Tyrone had battled villainous smugglers and pirates to rescue him.</p>
<p>“You’ve read it?” Jaime preened. “I was particularly proud of that one.”</p>
<p>Their meals arrived, and they began to eat. The food was delicious. Brienne tried very hard not to resent that fact.</p>
<p>“What about you?” Jaime asked. “Why did you get into comics?”</p>
<p>“I started out as an illustrator,” she said. “In fairy tales all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.”</p>
<p>“But?”</p>
<p>“I wanted to do more. I wanted to draw unchivalrous knights. Strong women. Even ugly women, like me.” She looked up, searching his face for his reaction – but he only shrugged. He did not pretend to disagree.</p>
<p>“Your brother gave me the chance. And here I am,” she said simply.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>After lunch, they strolled along the waterfront – Jaime wanted ice cream, and Brienne insisted on paying – and sat in the sun, people watching. Jaime sprawled beside her like a great lazy cat, the sun only burnishing his extravagant golden beauty. He always took up all the air in the room; sometimes she had difficulty believing that he was real.</p>
<p>It was nearly 1.30 in the afternoon. They’d left the office at just past 11.</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t we start getting back?” she asked.</p>
<p>He slanted a look at her. “We’re comic book artists, Brienne. We don’t have regular office hours.”</p>
<p>“If you’re going to say something like ‘brilliance can’t be created on schedule’, I’m going to be sick.”</p>
<p>“Well, it can’t,” he said, grinning. “And my particular sort of brilliance is stifled by corporate control. Believe me. Casterly Rock under that withered old cunt Pycelle was a perfect example.”</p>
<p>Jaime’s clashes with Pycelle, the old editor of Casterly Rock Publications, were the stuff of legend. Pycelle – probably in obedience to Tywin Lannister’s orders – had tried to assert creative control over him. Had even assigned him to the increasingly outdated, decades-old series Prince Rhaegar, no doubt hoping the falling sales and declining readership would discredit him.</p>
<p>It had backfired spectacularly. Jaime had written the Rebellion Arc, seen through the eyes of his new character, the Kingslayer, as a giant fuck you.</p>
<p>“Let me guess,” Brienne said. “Pycelle didn’t approve of perfect, <em>married </em>Prince Rhaegar running off with an unmarried girl and plunging the Seven Kingdoms into war?”</p>
<p>Jaime grinned. “I don’t know why. Sales went through the roof. The bottom line alone should have made my father weep with joy, if the old bastard was capable of such an emotion. But –” his smile turned wry. “He issued an ultimatum. So I talked it over with Tyrion, and the very next day I walked out, taking the Kingslayer and the Imp with me. And thus Halfman Comics was born.”</p>
<p>He looked at Brienne, smiled at her – a warm, lop-sided, genuine smile. “What I’m saying is, Blue, we’re artists. We’re creators. We’re supposed to rebel and shake things up.”</p>
<p>“We just had lunch at a Michelin-starred seafood restaurant! How is that rebelling and shaking things up?”</p>
<p>“That’s different,” he said simply. “I like their oysters.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>In the end, they never did get round to talking about their collaboration.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” he said, when she pressed him. “We’ll go for coffee.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Halfman Comics occupied the entire top floor of a converted factory in Flea Bottom. The huge windows let in plenty of sunlight, and any of the exposed brick walls that weren’t already covered with chalkboards scrawled with obscene commentary, taped-up sketches and life-sized cardboard cut-outs of their favourite movie and tv characters, were hung with framed pictures of Halfman Comics’ greatest covers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit - all credit for Arya Stark’s “Faceless Vengeance” should go to the delightful teaandbanjo!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darkness.</p><p>Somewhere, water is falling: Drip. Drip. Drip.</p><p>A squealing of iron hinges, and the sound of voices, growing nearer; a torch flares in the darkness.</p><p>The Kingslayer flinches away from the light, squinting.</p><p>**</p><p>Jaime put down his pencil, his hand flexing, and considered his quickly sketched draft. It was a good start. He could draw the Kingslayer in his sleep, although giving him a shaggy beard and filthy, mud-caked clothes was new. A year in a dark dungeon, chained up in solitary confinement – what did it do to a man?</p><p>And who was it, holding the torch? The Maid, yes – but why would she set the Kingslayer free? He’d have to discuss that with Brienne over coffee.</p><p>Smiling a little, he put the pencil to paper, drew in broad shoulders and a broken nose, but his attempt at the Maid looked – wrong.  </p><p>Brienne drew her with such sensitivity, her background as a fairy-tale illustrator inherent in every line. Jaime wasn’t sure he could convey that sense of vulnerability – his characters, the golden Lannisters, were all arrogant and snarling and if they’d ever had any vulnerability, they hid it deep down where their family could never find it.</p><p>He wondered what the Kingslayer would like look like, drawn by her hand.</p><p>**</p><p>Halfman Comics occupied the entire top floor of a converted factory in Flea Bottom. The huge windows let in plenty of sunlight, and any of the exposed brick walls that weren’t already covered with chalkboards scrawled with obscene commentary, taped-up sketches and life-sized cardboard cut-outs of their favourite movie and tv characters, were hung with framed pictures of Halfman Comics’ greatest covers.</p><p>Arya Stark’s <em>Faceless Vengeance #10: The Hall of Faces</em>. Jon Snow and Sam Tarly’s <em>Army of the Walking Dead #50</em>, where they had finally revealed the monstrous Night King after hinting at his existence for so long. Daenerys Targaryen’s <em>Khaleesi #1</em>, with its iconic artwork of its underage heroine emerging naked and hairless from the flames, dragons suckling at her breasts.</p><p>The backlash from that had been – well. Almost as much as Sansa and Loras’ LGBTI fantasy romance <em>Highgarden</em>, or Jaime’s incestuous Kingslayer shoving a young boy from a tower window.</p><p>And there, in pride of place near the tiny kitchen, where everyone who mattered could not help but see it, was Jaime’s favourite: <em>The Maid of Tarth #1</em>, showing a young, gangling girl in a dress, weeping as a man throws a rose at her feet – and looming protectively behind the girl, like a shadow grown from the trauma, the Maid in full armour.</p><p>“You always keep coming back to this one,” Tyrion said from behind him. “I remember when we first saw her work at the con, you couldn’t take your eyes away.”</p><p>Jaime shrugged lightly. “She had potential.”</p><p>“You were the one who convinced me to stop and look twice,” Tyrion reminded him. “In fact, you were the one who urged me to hire her.”</p><p>“For the gods’ sake, don’t tell her that,” Jaime hissed under his breath.</p><p>Tyrion only sighed.</p><p>Just then, Brienne emerged from the kitchen with a mug of tea. She saw that they were looking at her framed cover, and made a face. “Why do you keep it here? Why not in the foyer, or the boardroom, where <em>Kingslayer #1 </em>hangs?”</p><p>Tyrion looked ironically at Jaime.</p><p>“Because investors have more money than taste,” Jaime said lightly. “Because no one goes into the board room, and everyone goes into the kitchen.”   </p><p>She looked at him strangely. He only smiled, an empty flash of charm.</p><p>“Come on, Tarth,” he said. “Let’s go get coffee.”</p><p>Her mouth opened a little. She held up her mug of tea in silent protest. </p><p>“Well, bring that with you, and I’ll get coffee.” He strolled over to his cubicle, overflowing with mood boards and half-finished sketches, bulging scrap-books and well-thumbed art books and – someone had left a very detailed NSFW sketch of Prince Rhaegar and his brother-in-arms Ser Arthur Dayne on his keyboard, with a sticky note that said “You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Fucking Loras,” he said with a smile – and added it to the pile of similarly filthy and irreverent art he collected from all the titles he’d previously worked on.</p><p>He scooped up his sketches for their comic and piled them into his man-bag, tossed it casually over his shoulder and smiled at Brienne, who was staring wide-eyed at the mess.</p><p>“I suppose your workspace is clean and organised?” he asked, teasingly.</p><p>“Well, it is,” she said, faintly defensive.</p><p>He only laughed. “Come on,” he said again, and led the way to the lifts.</p><p>**</p><p>“So,” he said, as they sat in the nearby park, idly watching the world go by, “the Maid’s going to have to do the heavy lifting at the beginning. Her beloved, gay king just died in her arms – superb work on that two page layout, by the way – so how does she go from that, to running off with the Kingslayer? Why does she free him from the dungeon?”</p><p>There was a strange flush on her face. He wondered if the sun was too bright, whether they should move into the shade –</p><p>“The Young Wolf’s mother,” she said, after a moment. “She saves the Maid, somehow, takes her into her service – she could be a mentor, of sorts. Womanly courage. A mother’s strength.”</p><p>“Nice.” Jaime nodded. Brienne always created such strong women.</p><p>“And then when they get back to Riverrun, for some reason the Young Wolf’s mother wants to free him, to send him back to his sister – a prisoner exchange, maybe. The Young Wolf’s sisters. They’re just little girls, and the Maid’s soft heart is wrung –”</p><p>“Go on,” Jaime said.</p><p>Brienne sighed. “That’s all I’ve got.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Jaime took a sip of his coffee, leaned back on the bench and turned his face up to the sky. It felt – nice – sitting beside Brienne, brainstorming ideas back and forth, looking forward to what they could create together.</p><p>“Jaime,” Brienne said, “do you mind if I try my hand at the Kingslayer’s capture? I’ve been thinking about it, and I can see it so clearly: a tangled wood – no, a <em>whispering </em>wood, and a snarling knot of men struggling around a fallen banner, the Kingslayer dragged down in the fading light –”</p><p>He opened his eyes and smiled. “I’d love to see it,” he said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was late. Very late. Yawning, she flipped her sketch-book shut, switched off the desk lamp and ambled over to her long narrow bed. </p><p>She would talk things over with Jaime in the morning. Perhaps they could have coffee in the park and toss ideas back and forth again. She’d enjoyed that, very much.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mounted knights ride through a narrow, tangled forest, their mail glinting in the dim light. The wind sighs in the tree-tops, a strange whispering noise in the twilight.</p><p>The Kingslayer looks up, his instincts prickling; suddenly, he <em>knows </em>–</p><p>**</p><p>Brienne considered her rough sketch. Perhaps unwittingly, she’d drawn the Kingslayer with the same pathos and grandeur as the tragic elf-lords she had once painted for an illustrated version of the <em>Silmarillion.</em></p><p>Jaime would laugh at the comparison, she thought. His Kingslayer was sharp-edged, sardonic and too vivid for ancient myth – brutal, callous and unapologetic.</p><p>But Brienne remembered the thrill that had run down her spine when she first read the Rebellion arc, when she saw Jaime’s famous image of the Kingslayer standing in a pool of golden light, the Mad King’s twisted corpse at his feet, his pure white cloak stained red where it trailed in a sticky pool of blood.</p><p>The expression on the young Kingslayer’s face had been –</p><p>She sighed, tossed her pencil down and slumped back in her chair. How could she reconcile that shocked and haunted young boy with the grown man who had tossed a young boy out of a tower window?</p><p>Jaime could. Jaime had replied to the storm of controversy following that issue with a shrug, only saying that the Kingslayer was neither a hero nor a villain, but only a man with as many flaws as virtues.</p><p>How would the Maid react to him? If he was arrogant and golden and invulnerable, how would she ever come to see the truth of him?</p><p>Seized by an idea, she picked up her phone and tapped out a message before she could stop and think twice:</p><p>
  <em>How do we strip the Kingslayer of all his masks?</em>
</p><p>It was late. Very late. Yawning, she flipped her sketch-book shut, switched off the desk lamp and ambled over to her long narrow bed, squashed against the brick wall and overshadowed by towering bookcases.</p><p>She would talk things over with Jaime in the morning. Perhaps they could have coffee in the park and toss ideas back and forth again. She’d enjoyed that, very much.</p><p>With a muted blip, her phone lit up with a notification. Squinting down at the screen, she saw that he had written back.</p><p><em>Strip him of everything that makes him what he is, </em>Jaime said. <em>Take away his white cloak, his name and position, even his sword. </em></p><p>
  <em>What is he without his sword?</em>
</p><p>And then, a few seconds later:</p><p>
  <em>What is he without his sword *hand*?</em>
</p><p>She sat up, suddenly wide awake.</p><p>And then she lurched out of bed, grabbed her sketch-book and her pencil, and began to draw.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let's pretend that Tolkien, LotR and the Silmarillion exist in this world. *Waves author's wand*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime was asleep on the couch in the common area. The sunlight spilled over his golden hair and eyelashes and even his lazy three-day stubble, highlighting the ridiculous extravagance of his beauty. </p><p>Despite his paint-streaked jeans and his faded t-shirt, he looked like a sleeping prince. Like a knight of old, enchanted by a sorceress to sleep the long centuries away until he woke in the modern age.</p><p>What seemed like half the artists in the office were perched in chairs around him like vultures, shamelessly sketching.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a quick update today. Please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She made her way into the office at 11am the next day, yawning and clutching her coffee.  </p><p>Jaime was asleep on the couch in the common area. The sunlight spilled over his golden hair and eyelashes and even his lazy three-day stubble, highlighting the ridiculous extravagance of his beauty. </p><p>Despite his paint-streaked jeans and his faded t-shirt, he looked like a sleeping prince. Like a knight of old, enchanted by a sorceress to sleep the long centuries away until he woke in the modern age.</p><p>What seemed like half the artists in the office were perched in chairs around him like vultures, shamelessly sketching. </p><p>They were all fair game, of course. Artists were artists, and couldn’t stop themselves from drawing inspiration from real life, Brienne included. Especially if real life was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep and unable to escape.</p><p>There was a character in Arya’s <i>Faceless Vengeance</i> who looked exactly like young Gendry, one of their hapless interns. Daenerys’ Khal Drogo was based on Jason Mormont, their resident handyman, whose deep voice and wide shoulders stretched the bounds of credulity. </p><p>Jaime, of course, took it one step farther – rumour said that when he drew the Kingslayer for the first time, he looked no further than his own reflection. </p><p>Tyrion swore that he had secret photographs of Jaime at age 17 to confirm this. </p><p>Unable to resist, Brienne put down her coffee and pulled out her sketch-book.</p><p>** </p><p>“The Knight of the Flowers needs a new squire,” Loras said. “Enter young Jay Hill, a wide-eyed, eager youth from the Westerlands –”</p><p>Arya threw her pencil at him. “Eager to be boned by his handsome idol,” she said. </p><p>Loras ignored her. “ – eager to prove himself by heroic feats of manly valour –”</p><p>“Loras, if you draw one more scene of half-naked knights and squires bathing in the river –”</p><p>Jon wandered over to Brienne under cover of their bickering. “Sam and I have been thinking of writing some flashbacks to happier days,” he said. “Maybe write some backstory, before everything went to hell. Don’t you think Jaime looks like a king? Say he tried to hold things together, but with his death the realm was enveloped in chaos –”</p><p>“Maybe his wife betrayed him,” Sam agreed. “She plotted against him with her secret lover.” </p><p>“Why would she have a secret lover when her husband looked like Jaime?” Brienne asked. </p><p>“There’s no accounting for taste,” Jon said. “Maybe she’s just an evil queen.” </p><p>He wandered off with Sam, heads bent together as they discussed the late king and his downfall. </p><p>“How did you draw him, Brienne?” Sansa asked. “An unattainable love interest for the Maid?” She made a face. “No, that’s too cruel.” </p><p>Brienne looked at Sansa, at her bright eyes and gentle smile. “The Kingslayer,” she blurted out, “vulnerable and defenceless, and the Maid has to care for him –”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” she breathed. “Are you –”</p><p>Brienne bit her lip. “Jaime and I are teaming up,” she confessed. “We’re going to do a crossover arc.” </p><p>Sansa’s excited squeal rang through the office.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Michelangelo,” Brienne said. </p>
<p>They were in the park again, people-watching. </p>
<p>“What about him?” Jaime asked. He took a sip of his coffee. “We have a couple of his smaller works at Casterly Rock, you know. In the Hall of Heroes.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a short update. I haven't forgotten about this story (or any of the others)! I've just been - distracted by other shiny things.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Michelangelo,” Brienne said.</p>
<p>They were in the park again, people-watching.</p>
<p>“What about him?” Jaime asked. He took a sip of his coffee. “We have a couple of his smaller works at Casterly Rock, you know. In the Hall of Heroes.”</p>
<p>“That’s – ” She huffed, exasperated. “Not surprising at all, really. And entirely beside the point.”</p>
<p>He threw her a laughing look. “Go on, then.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking. The statue of the Warrior in the rebuilt Sept of Baelor.”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen it,” he said. And then: “If you’re thinking we should use it as a model for the Kingslayer – well. I’m flattered.”</p>
<p>She snorted. “No. Or – maybe not the Warrior. The Pieta. The Maiden, holding the fallen Warrior in her arms.”</p>
<p>He thought for a moment. “You mean the Mother,” he said.</p>
<p>She blushed slightly. She had <em>not</em> meant the Mother. “If the Maid has to care for the Kingslayer –”</p>
<p>“I thought the Warrior was dead?”</p>
<p>He was laughing at her. Not cruelly, but in a way that invited her to laugh with him. It gave her a strange, heady feeling –</p>
<p>She swatted him. “That’s not the point! It’s a very powerful image. The associations are –”</p>
<p>“Ouch!” He rubbed at his shoulder, mock-frowning at her. “I know. You used it for Renly’s death, didn’t you? And Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros at Thangorodrim.”</p>
<p>“You’ve seen my illustrated Silmarillion?”</p>
<p>He looked away. Looked back. Shrugged. “I had a look at your website.”</p>
<p>Brienne had looked at his, once or twice. But there was no way she’d ever tell him that.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>That night, she took out the sketch she had made of him sleeping on the couch, his limbs relaxed in sleep and his face slack.</p>
<p>She drew the Maid first, in battered armour, her face bruised and bloodied. She was strong enough to carry the Kingslayer, wasn’t she? To gather up his limp form and carry him to the stream, washing away the blood and filth. Pity and compassion, for the wreck of a once-proud man. Would she weep as she did so, or would she be filled with determination to keep him alive?</p>
<p>She had wept for Renly, her lost and unattainable love. Fingon had wept when he cut off Maedhros’ hand to free him from his imprisonment.*</p>
<p>The Maid would hold him up out of the water, his head lolling against her shoulder, and urge him to live.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*I can't remember if Fingon really did weep when he cut off Maedhros' hand, but I'm too lazy to wade through the Silmarillion again to find out. It's my head-canon that he did.</p>
<p>Also, as with Tolkien, this world also contains Michelangelo. Because why not?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Introducing a new character," Loras said. "Jay Hill. A young squire dreaming of glory, who yearns to prove himself in battle.”</p>
<p>They all stared at the artwork. It was unmistakably inspired by Jaime. If Jaime had based the Kingslayer on his own reflection, Loras’ fantasy of a teenage Jaime was willowy and slender, with tumbling golden curls and wide eager eyes. </p>
<p>"Fuck you, Loras," Jaime said, though the corners of his mouth quivered.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next afternoon they had their monthly staff meeting. It was an informal affair: Tyrion bought booze; Sansa bought a container of home-made lemon cakes, and they all chipped in to order a stack of pizzas. Eating off paper plates and drinking Arbor red from plastic cups, they sat around the central table and took the chance to show off what they’d been working on.  </p>
<p>Daenerys brought out some magnificent concept artwork of her Khaleesi standing tall and proud in the foreground, intoning only one word: <em>dracarys</em>. Behind her, her three dragons poured great crimson cascades of flame down upon her enemies.</p>
<p>“Nice,” Tyrion said admiringly. “But you don’t want to use that trick too often. What will she do if someone takes her dragons away?”</p>
<p>“She takes them the fuck back,” Daenerys said. “And crushes anyone who gets in her way.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough.” Tyrion chuckled. “What about you, Sam?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Sam said, fumbling with some hand-drawn panels. “As you know, the last arc ended with the Lord Commander stabbed in the back by his own men and left to die in the snow.”</p>
<p>“Best ending ever,” Arya said, with ghoulish enjoyment. “You should have heard the fangirls scream.”</p>
<p>“We thought – that is, Jon and I – that we could use the Red Priestess to bring him back. You know, some sort of arcane ritual performed over his naked body –”</p>
<p> Tyrion waggled his eyebrows. “Sold,” he said. “Do it.” He turned to Arya. “How goes the Girl?”</p>
<p>“Watching a mummer’s play,” Arya said. “I’m writing Shakespeare’s <em>Joffrey Baratheon</em>. Complete with tits and arse and farting gags.”</p>
<p>Sansa snorted. “You would,” she said.</p>
<p>Arya glowered at her sister, and Tyrion intervened hastily, asking Brienne to talk about her collaboration with Jaime.</p>
<p>The idea of a Kingslayer and the Maid crossover seemed to capture everyone’s imagination. Brienne blushed shyly at the warm encouragement and showed off her sketch of the Kingslayer’s defeat in the Whispering Wood. Jaime brought out his own sketch of the Kingslayer imprisoned in Riverrun’s dungeon, blinking up at the Maid as she stood in the doorway, holding a lantern.</p>
<p>“And the first thing he says to her is: ‘Are you a woman?’” Jaime said.  </p>
<p>Loras snorts. “He’s such an arsehole.” But there was something admiring in his voice – which soon turned into a sly grin. “Speaking of –”</p>
<p>He pulled out two oversized panels. “Introducing a new character: Jay Hill. A young squire dreaming of glory, who yearns to prove himself in battle.”</p>
<p>They all stared at the artwork. It was unmistakably inspired by Jaime. If Jaime had based the Kingslayer on his own reflection, Loras’ fantasy of a teenage Jaime was willowy and slender, with tumbling golden curls and wide eager eyes.</p>
<p>Tyrion choked with laughter. The appeal of <em>Highgarden </em>was Loras’ art, all tender yearning and dewy-eyed glances and homoerotic – and Sapphic – tension, combined with Sansa’s stories of romance and chivalry and love conquering all. Young Jay Hill almost leapt from the page, filled with eager chivalry and dreams of becoming a knight, looking up worshipfully at his handsome mentor, the noble Sword of the Morning.</p>
<p>From that panel alone, a thousand shippers would be born.  </p>
<p>“Fuck you, Loras,” Jaime said, though the corners of his mouth quivered. “See what I do to Iron Fist next.”</p>
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